Rookie Start
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: Somewhere between going off to college and joining the precinct Damian Wayne grew up, and Detective Tim Drake isn't sure how to take that. TimDamian
1. Chapter 1

**Rookie Start  
**

**A Word**: Requested TimDamian cop AU. There will be more to this though.

.

* * *

.

"Tim," Dick doesn't waste any time after hitting him with his absurd question. Sliding straight into that whiny and wheedling tone that he _knows_ Tim will do almost anything to shut up.

Literally anything and Todd in Vice has the photos to prove it. Tim slams his locker closed and turns to Dick who is still wearing the sopping wet clothes he'd been thrown into the harbor with. His hair is dry at least so he doesn't look completely like a drowned and kicked puppy as he looks pleadingly up at Tim.

"My cat died and I need to get my Grandmother neutered," Tim's mouth gets ahead of him as it usually does when his partner's trying to get Tim to do something he doesn't like. The fact that Tim _knows_ it's all a devious act to bend people to his will does not make Dick any less effective when he turns on the big eyes. "No, Dick."

"Tim," Dick hunches his shoulders and —Tim blames Disney because half the precinct knows Dick escaped from their mental asylum— pouts. A full out lip thrust with wobbling that would do a toddler proud. "I don't want to be alone."

"You'll be in crowd of people!" Tim exclaims even as he feels himself caving. God, if only Dick pulled this act on criminals their solve rate would be so much higher, but, no, he saves this all for people he claims as friends. "Your entire family will be there! You won't be alone so don't pull that line on me."

"It won't be the same!" Dick nearly wails as he springs up and grabs Tim's arm. Avoiding a full body hug at the last minute because Tim will punch him if he drips on him. "Please, Tim. Please!"

Oh, he's going to regret this. Tim knows it because Dick's been making him regret things on an almost daily basis since they were first assigned as partners five years ago. "Fine. I'll- Dick! Let me go! You're getting me wet!"

.

.

Tim tries not to squirm as he sits between Dick and Commissioner Wayne —"I think we're to the point you can call me Bruce now Tim."— in the uncomfortably hot metal seats set aside for distinguished guests. He'd much rather be in the bleachers with the rest of Dick's strange and extended family, but the two men had insisted otherwise.

He can see Jason and Steph getting into another of their one-upmanship fights. A pinch there a slap there. They'll be throwing punches in under fifteen minutes if Cass doesn't stop them. Or Babs who looks more interested in her phone than anything else.

Tim would wonder how so many key people could miss a shift if he didn't know every one of them called the Commissioner —"Bruce, Tim, really."— Dad. Instead he wonders that no one has gone after them for being so heavily staffed with the same family. Probably a combination of the different last names and their record of closing cases.

"There he is," Dick mutters from next to Tim. He doesn't immediately start making a spectacle of himself which has to be the presence of Commissioner Wayne —"Really, Tim? You spend Christmas with us."— but the gleam in his eye is enough for Tim to know that all bets are going to be off after the ceremony. Dick's absolute love of embarrassing his siblings could not be denied for longer than that.

Tim looks at the small sea of uniformed men and women. Perfectly pressed and polished for one of the last times in their careers. He doesn't see the newest Wayne addition to the precinct and doesn't mind that one bit. Damian Wayne had been a certified pain in Tim's ass from the second week of his partnership with Dick. The boy had shown up one shift, taken a long and hostile look at Tim, and proceeded to do everything in his power to make Tim want to plan and carry out an elaborate assassination scheme just to get free of him.

The last few years Damian spent traveling the world and other things Tim had never cared to pay attention to have been a minor blessing really. One that's ending, and soon he'll have to deal with the demon spawn almost daily at work.

The ceremony is as dry and boring as Tim remembers his to be, and he zones it out in favor of counting how many times Dick aborts one of the impossible and showy stretches he makes look easier than they are. Tim dutifully claps with the rest of the crowd as sweat starts sticking his shirt to his skin. Sudden movement as the sea of newly minted officers break off to find their families brings Tim out of it and he stands up gratefully. Turning to say something to Dick when the man's face breaks into a million watt grin just as a shadow falls on Tim's seat.

"Father," Damian greets them cordially. His aristocratic air suiting the stiffly pressed uniform he's wearing. "Grayson, Drake. Thank you for attending."

Dick says something. Suitably embarrassing or assholish going by Damian's face, but Tim doesn't really hear it because he's too busy trying not to gape at the man who is _not_ the Damian Wayne he remembers seeing last.

_That_ Damian had been a few inches below Tim's height and was swallowed up by perpetually baggy clothes and a scowl that could set fires. _This_ Damian is actually taller than Dick and looks close to gaining the Commissioner's —"You _will_ call me by name eventually, son."— impressive bulk. There's no insult falling from his mouth to set Tim on edge, and without the scowl Damian's regal features stand out more. Blue eyes turning Tim even more speechless as Damian turns to him. Expectant and absolutely not mocking at all.

It's not until Damian squawks out an enraged insult when Steph jumps him from behind that Tim snaps out of his downward spiral to the twilight zone. Because the man spitting curses about his siblings' lineage even as his face flushes in pleasure definitely _is_ the Damian Tim remembers.

.

.

It's late when Tim manages to extract himself from the Wayne family party. Slipping through darkened halls when Dick gets distracted by something Babs says. He's going to have a hell of a hangover on the morning. The worst out the three of them unless Jason or Steph wake back up to continue drinking. Tim types up a reminder on his phone to bring coffee and painkillers in the morning. For himself because a hungover Dick is a sullen and spiteful thing to deal with until lunch rolls around.

Tim's nearly to the door of the Comissioner's —"Let's be reasonable, Tim. You're practically part of the family by now. You might as well call me Bruce outside of work."— when a shadow catching up to him nearly makes him jump.

"Drake," it's Damian, of course, and Tim gives the man a polite and awkward smile. This is usually the part in all their previous interactions when Damian would bust out some mean and spiteful insult. This new Damian doesn't seem all that inclined to follow those rules though. Part of Tim is waiting for that insult, and the rest of him is still dazed over the fact that it doesn't seem to be coming. It's something he's going to have to get used to apparently. The fact that Damian seems to have grown up while he was away.

Grown up _real_ good. Tim smacks down the sly voice that points out how good, and tries to dredge up some pleasantry for the new officer. "I've got an early shift and I'm going to be working twice as hard to make up for Dick," Damian makes an amused snort. They can both hear Dick's laughter echoing. Loud and uncontrolled. "Congratulations by the way."

Tim doesn't just mean the academy either. Getting placed so quickly in a precinct was something done on Damian's own merit. The entire process is blind and not even the Commissioner —Tim can hear a put upon sigh in his head— knows who is being chosen until the end despite the rumors.

"Thank you," Damian looks oddly pleased and, if the light were brighter, he'd probably see the man is flushing again. "It means a lot to me that you came as well, Drake."

Ah, guilt. Right on time. Tim grins and looks away to give his neck a break. He's still not used to having to look up at Damian yet. "You know, we will be working in the same building now. I think you're allowed to call me Tim."

Damian has, on occasion, been known to use people's first names. Only his family or extremely close friends, and never with Tim.

"I do not know about that," Damian smiles and alarms instantly start going off in Tim's head, because this is a slow and honest smile. Something real and sweet that undoes a lot of the work Tim has put into not thinking about how very _adult_ Damian has become. "Will you be calling my father by his name anytime soon, _Timothy_?"

No, he won't. Tim almost says that aloud too, because Damian's barely perceptible accent is doing interesting things to Tim's name. Things that just might be deliberate based on the smug look in the man's eyes as he takes a step closer. One broad hand reaching out to rest against Tim's side. Radiating heat even through the layers Tim's wearing.

"Maybe," Tim takes a step back and looks away from Damian. Work. He has it, early even. "I'll see you around then."

Tim leaves quickly and doesn't pay attention to the fact that Damian's shadow stays in the door watching even as he pulls away. "Crap," Tim doesn't bang his head against the steering wheel like he wants to only because he knows it won't do a thing to solve his confusion.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rookie Start  
**

**A Word**: Everyone has their two cents to put in. Regardless of if it's wanted or not.

.

* * *

.

Damian rarely regrets the choices he has made in his life. From his earliest memories he has always been absolutely certain of each decision made. Sure of the rightness and correctness of it. That is not to say that Damian has never been shown to be wrong. There have been several instances where his decisions were not the best or even all that correct. His reaction to those instances were not the best, Damian will admit that now, but he likes to think that he has become better over the course of his life.

_Mature_, Stephanie calls him even as she ruffles his hair like the child Damian no longer is.

Damian does not often regret his decisions, not even the wrong ones because he's _learned_ from them. However, he can admit to himself that the taste in his mouth as Timothy Drake walks out into the night is all bitter regret.

He remembers first meeting the young detective that would be his elder brother's partner, and not being at all impressed by the slim and weak looking man. After the incident that almost landed Richard in the hospital —all due to horrendous oversights on his previous partner's part— Damian had not been willing to accept _anyone_ as being able to protect his brother, and there was nothing at all that Timothy could have done to fix that. Nothing that would have made Damian not despise the man on sight, and nothing that Richard said could stop Damian from expressing that feeling at every opportunity.

He had been lashing out at factors that no one could have controlled. At things that had already happened and did not actually have a thing to do with Timothy himself. Damian recognizes that now and is rather ashamed that it took him so long to see it. Too long after the fact to fix the wrongs he has done. The wrongs that Damian truly _wants_ to make up for if Timothy would let him.

Cool fingers wrap around his wrist and Damian smiles at Cassandra. Her dark eyes study him silently, and Damian does not have to say a single word. His sister has always been able to read him without using words to prod at him.

"He's confused," Cassandra offers the insight that has made her so very indispensable to interrogations over the years. "You're different. He sees that. He doesn't know how to deal yet."

Timothy has always been reserved. Holding back with a polite veneer that only melts slowly with time and space. His true self being held back until his mind can wrap around how to deal with a person. Whether that be by making terrible jokes with them, or throwing insults back at them.

"I understand," Damian turns back into the house. The door clicking shut behind them as Cassandra uses her grip to pull him back into the light and laughter. His aggravating but loving family celebration for him drawing them both back in.

.

.

Dick gives him a bleary look that's far too patient for how red his eyes are. Tim thinks longingly of the aspirin he forgot at home because he can feel the headache coming on already. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself," Dick mumbles, reaching for one of the many bottles of water that'd been waiting on the desk when Tim came in. A few packets of crackers piled next to them for when Dick's able to eat. Tim sees Cass' hand in it. He's still thankful they're both on an admin day and doing nothing more strenuous than filling out paperwork. "I remember Dami walking out with you. Now did you guys finally kiss or what?"

"Or what," Tim says and narrows his eyes at Dick who's sucking down the water at a rate that makes Tim's stomach churn. "Why would you even _think_ that Dick?"

Dick tries to roll his eyes but stops himself with a wince. "Because I _saw_ you checking my little brother out?"

"Dick," Tim sighs because he thought he'd done a better job covering that up. He doesn't try to deny the accusation because that's just like blood in the water for Dick, and his trashing of Tim's weakness will be more than enough to draw Jason and Steph in on it too. The fact that Vice is one floor below them irrelevant when Jason's finely tuned asshole senses pick up on Tim's distress. "Damian _hates_ me. I don't think kissing is what he thinks of when he's following behind me in the dark."

The look in Damian's eye and the heat of his hand were simply Tim misunderstanding things, or were even hallucinations brought on by _something_ he ate or drank. Tim doesn't know what, but it was a good enough explanation to get him to sleep the night before.

"No he doesn't," Dick chuckles hoarsely. Plastic wrap crackling as he slowly opens up a packet of crackers. "Damian's been crushing on you since he was fifteen. He always gets snarly the more he likes people."

"Dick," lies, they're all lies because Dick sees the world through rose tinted, scented, and flavored glasses. Especially when it comes to his little brother. Lack of insults or threats aside, snarly is a tame way of describing Damian's default mode. "Damian's _attacked_ me before." Multiple times and with varying levels of lethal intent.

"Yeah," there's a faint look of consternation on Dick's face that gets buried fast. The smile he flashes Tim is a shadow of what Dick usually manages, but it's another step in the long process of getting over the hangover. "But you never saw how upset with himself he'd get right after!"

Tim gathers up the reports he's been finalizing and stands to get them copied and hopefully filed for good. "You're full of so much bullshit, Dick."

Dick protests as Tim walks away.

.

.

Damian starts as every other new recruit does. Partnered with an older veteran and sent out on patrol. It is not the best use of his abilities but Damian swallows down the indignation of it. There are things that he can learn from this after all. Things that cannot be fully learned from the tales his siblings told or the cases he's studied in the academy as well as before. The fact that everyone starts out on a beat soothes him even more. His father having made a year of patrol —by foot or vehicle— mandatory for every person hired in any Gotham precinct years ago. A way to make sure all his officers had some understanding of the city they are protecting.

It's only for a year. Damian reminds himself. He can handle this for a year.

"Dami!"

The shout comes too late for him to avoid the arm that wraps around his neck. Dragging Damian down and smashing his face in between a bony shoulder and- "Lance!" Damian carefully places his hands to push the grinning woman away and get his face out of a dangerous area that has some of the men in the immediate area giving him envious looks. Dinah Lance grins unrepentantly at him as she lets him move her. Still far too amused with that move even though Damian hasn't flushed that bright red that made her do it in the first place since he was seventeen. "I expected more professionalism out of you when dealing with a colleague. I see that I am sadly mistaken."

"You're just a baby," Lance scoffs and threads her arm through his. Towing him out to the carpool. Years of conditioning has taught Damian not to try pulling away. Not unless he wants a more than slightly painful practical demonstration on arm locks. "Accept it. It's your lot in life, partner."

Damian grimaces at the word. He had suspected as much, but had held out hope that he would be partnered with someone else. Someone who did not take an unholy amount of glee in humiliating him. He would blame Barbara for this. "I thought I was to be partnered with Montoya."

"Oh, you were," Lance says flippantly. Letting go of him as they approach the vehicle that has been hers for as long as Damian can remember. It's the oldest vehicle in the precinct only because the woman refuses to let his father retire it and get her a better one. An impractical fancy that has not been strenuously challenged only because —in Lance's hands— the vehicle has yet to fail. "But she owes me a favor or two."

Damian is not surprised in the least that one of those coveted favors —the currency and lifeblood of the precinct— was used to get him. He holds back a sigh only by sheer force of will. Reminding himself that, despite the trials that will result in working with Lance, she is one of the best officers to learn from. He will give the woman that.

"So," Lance slides into the car, leaning over to pop the lock on the passenger's side. Her smile is bright and wicked as Damian gets in, already familiar enough with the car to not slam his knee in the well hidden protrusion that gets everyone entering it for the first —or even seventh— time. "You're already mostly familiar with my patrol and routine. Don't need to waste time explaining that to you. That leaves us plenty of time to discuss your plans to get Drake."

Damian chokes on air for a humiliating second and feels his face burning as the evil woman _cackles_. He will give the woman the respect she deserves for her work but he will not give her much else.

.

.

The main problem with Timothy Jackson Drake is his suspicious mind.

It helps when cases get tossed at his head and the facts aren't matching up with what he's being told, but it absolutely holds him back everywhere else in life. Steph watches him over her drippy burrito as Tim —somehow— manages to not get any of the drippings all over his clothes. Steph gave that fight up when eating anything from the taco truck that sometimes parks right outside the precinct —because it's run by _smart_ people who can smell hunger— a long time ago and adjusts the plastic apron she keeps around just for these special lunches. Bits of meat and liquid fat dot it liberally which is disgusting to look at, but leaves her peach blouse spotless so it's totally worth it.

"I can't," Tim repeats to his burrito. "He's still the demon spawn, Steph. He's just not _acting_ like it and it's messing with my mind."

"I like how you expect me to come up with some lie that you'll believe," Steph gathers up some meat and shredded lettuce that's fallen out on her paper tray and eats it. "Considering you've already _rejected_ the truth."

"Damian once tried to take my head off with an aluminum bat," Tim states flatly, his gaze incredulous. "Forgive me if I don't quite buy that he's had a _five_ year long crush on me."

"So, what? You'd rather believe he's a closet psychopath out for your blood?" Steph throws her balled up napkin at Tim's head when his face shows her that, yes, he actually would because Tim is Tim and simple isn't good enough for him. "Damian's grown up now, Timmy. He's actually _matured_ believe it or not. Must've been all the raging hormones holding him back. Which, heh, _you_ didn't help with at all."

Steph can't really blame Tim for his stubborn refusal to just accept Damian's lack of spite. It's a change that she is still getting used to herself after all. Sure, Damian can and will still sling insults with the rest of them, but it's not as hurtful anymore. Not actively looking to find the weak links in their armor and dig in to cause them pain. A change that happened over the last two years as Damian tried to reconnect with his mother through a tour of the world.

Her little brother's changed demeanor after that debatably successful trip had surprised them all in the end.

"Still," Tim argues stubbornly, "I just keep expecting something else. He's too _nice_."

But not _that_ changed. Steph arches an eyebrow at Tim, "Oh really? How's that?"

Tim's face goes blank in a way that Steph knows means he's been caught off guard. His eyes flicker in the way that means he's using his freaky memory to recall things. "I'd say not actively trying to kill me but that's not something a majority of the population has a problem with doing."

Which is bullshit in more than one way. Tim has an awe inspiring ability to piss people off with just a look and a word. One that he hasn't fully mastered control over. "You're stalling. You can't actually think of a single incident to back up your claim, can you?"

Tim neatly picks through the meat that had fallen out of his food. Wiping off the grease after every bite on a napkin that isn't shredded. "He hasn't insulted me once."

"That's just because he's avoiding you," Steph stuffs the last bite into her mouth and chews it fast. The plastic apron folds up neatly to be cleaned later. She admires the unsullied nature of her clothes and congratulates herself once again for being a genius in the things that really matter. "Don't get me wrong. He's head over heels for you, hell if I know why, but he's still _Damian_. He doesn't know he's being insulting half the time he opens his mouth."

"I'm not sure if you're trying to sell your little brother to me or warn me off," Tim gathers up both of their trash and dumps it in a trashcan as they make their way back into the precinct. The tiny courtyard becoming depressing and gray again the second they start up the steps.

"Who says I can't do both?" Steph asks as she punches in the code for the lock and holds the door. Bowing Tim in with a grin.

.

.

"You," Damian doesn't startle at Jason's voice. Sudden and loud in his ear. "Are a _sad_ sack of shit. It's embarrassing to be called your brother right now."

Damian takes his time filling out the rest of his report before deigning to give the man his attention. "I don't know what you are speaking of, Todd. If anyone should be embarrassed here it should be me. What pimp did you terrorize into giving up their wardrobe this time?"

Jason is wearing a horrid looking purple shirt with too few buttons under his normal leather jacket, and worn pants that are tighter than some of the jeans he's seen on the male prostitutes down Jean Street.

Or Richard. Damian can't, unfortunately, rule out their elder brother when it comes to terrible and inappropriate clothing. Jason smirks at him and leans even more suggestively against the desk Damian is borrowing. A few heads turn, but most people know better than to give Jason more than a single glance.

"You've been eyefucking Timmy all night, kid," Jason doesn't even have the decency to lower his voice. Damian is not at all encouraged when only a few people in hearing range seem surprised. "And you've been avoiding him for over a month. It's getting downright pathetic."

Timothy flits through a door on the other side of the room. Grabbing a pile of folders from a civilian aide before disappearing back into the conference room he has commandeered for his latest case. From the desk Damian has borrowed he can see the man handing files out to the task-force seated at the table. They all look drawn and tired, but Timothy is in his element as he speaks. Gesturing toward a whiteboard that Damian cannot read.

"I don't think that is any of your concern, Todd," Damian reaches for the next incident report. Scanning the details to remind himself of the event before adding any clarifying statements that might be needed.

"It is when one of my brothers is making himself miserable by being an idiot," Jason hops up on the desk and twists so that he's looking the same way Damian would be if Damian were not focusing on a report about a domestic disturbance. Jason makes a derisive noise. "So fucking sad. You know the little princess there is trying to figure out what your angle is, right? He's kind of convinced you're trying to get his guard down so you can murder him and bury him in the woods or something."

His pen scratches hard enough into the paper to tear it. Damian scowls down at the hole and lifts the pen away. He transfers his glare to Jason. "What are you talking about?"

"Timmy's a paranoid bastard, and let's face it, he has a right to be. You hated him on sight, Dami, and you made no secrets about it at all," Jason twists back to look at him. His eyes serious in a way that Damian knows means his brother is more concerned than he really wants to let on. "This whole backing off or avoidance thing you got going? Isn't helping him to reverse an opinion he's had, what, five years to form? You go away a few years and come back all polite and not attacking like he expects is putting him on edge, because it's not what he's grown to expect from you."

Damian feels his lips twist sourly but admits that Jason is right. All through the time he spent away from home. Traveling with Mother and going through the necessary steps to become a police officer his mind had strayed back to Timothy. Reluctantly at first, but with increasing frequency as Damian allowed himself to see beyond the rather petty hate that had allowed him to ignore how the older man made him feel.

It was towards the end of his time with Mother, as Damian filled out forms she knew nothing about, that he first started entertaining thoughts of what he would do when he returned. What he might be allowed to do once he'd made amends. Unfortunately, he had spent more time thinking about _after_ the amends and not enough about how to make them. Leaving Damian stuck with the rather daunting task and little idea how to even begin.

"Word of advice?" Jason says as he jumps to his feet. Adjusting his jacket to fall over the holster at his side. "Quit being a creeper and ask him out to dinner. This staring shit is getting old, and dear old Dad is itching to get Tim officially in the family. If you don't make a move soon he's gonna try to adopt him. Again."

Damian scowls at Jason's back as the man walks away.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rookie Start  
**

**A Word**: Ibid.

.

* * *

.

Damian tries to approach Timothy after their respective shifts are over. Staying an extra two hours after his own shift to catch the man alone in the hopes any humiliation he experiences can be limited between the two of them.

It does not go well. At all.

.

.

"I think you broke his nose," Jason says with a rather proud looking grin as he steps out of the insanely large bathroom on the first floor of the Wayne manor. Damian's swearing echoes loud and clear even through the closed door. Alfred's sharp admonishments are not so clear but the tone carries well. "You believe me about the elbow now don't you?"

Tim rolls his eyes and rubs his right elbow. It hurts from smashing into the incredibly hard bridge of Damian's nose, but the sharp crack and flood of blood had been as effective an attack as Jason likes to carry on about. "Yes, fine, I do. Does this mean you'll stop giving me rape whistles for Christmas?" And his birthday, _Jason's_ birthday, most major holidays, a few obscure ones, and every second Tuesday of the month.

"I dunno," Jason raises an eyebrow, "You carrying one right now?"

"No!" Tim scowls at the question. Every whistle finds its way to a shelter or college campus where they'll do the most good. Tim has no need for the things despite what Jason seems to think.

"Then, no, I'm not gonna stop giving you whistles, Princess," Jason's arms cross over his chest. Eyes going hard with his scowl. "All it takes is one guy bigger than you in an alley-"

"That was _one_ time!" Tim nearly screams in frustration over that incident being brought up again. One demented murderer with a penchant for men getting a lucky punch in when a rookie on perimeter watch decided to go flirt with the pretty lady reporter instead of watching Tim's back. Tim had gotten a split lip and the murderer had gotten several broken bones and a pair of metal bracelets, but Jason always seemed to conveniently forget that Tim _took care of it himself_.

Logically, Tim knows it's not that cut and dry. That Jason had been tapped to pull info out of the man while Tim was looked over. The topic of that conversation has always been kept from Tim, but it was enough to get Jason suspended for nearly beating the man to unconsciousness. The whistle gifting had started shortly after that and Tim's imagination has always shied away from the connection there.

"Look," Tim shifts the topic because Jason is perfectly capable of arguing this topic to the _ground_. Tim knows from an ill-fated attempt to get the man to change his mind that he gave up on four days in. Four nearly solid days of arguing with the mulish look on Jason's face. "Is Damian going to be alright?"

"Eh," Jason let's the topic slide with a shrug, and Tim knows he's going to have a brand new whistle on his desk in the morning. Maybe two. "He'll live. He's suffered worse, it's mostly just his pride smarting right now."

"Good," Tim frowns as a yelp echoes out of the bathroom. He debates staying long enough to see for himself Damian is fine, but a string of harsh curses cuts that though short. The violence and rage in those words eases something in Tim that's been unsettled since the youngest Wayne came back into his life. He sounded like himself, and Tim won't be surprised if those curses turn to the old threats against Tim's life. "I think I'll see myself out."

Tim leaves by the side door he'd brought the younger man in earlier when he refused point blank any suggestion of going to the hospital. Following the track of drying blood drops and trying not to feel so put out at the thought that Damian might be going back to normal.

.

.

"I heard you broke Damian's nose," Babs says as Tim hands over the large container of coffee she'd texted him about getting her earlier. Three times before Tim's alarm had even gone off and an additional five as he dragged himself out of his apartment. She pops the lid off and hums and she inhales the scent.

Tim stays respectfully silent as she communes with their caffeinated god. Leaning his weight against one of the handles on the back of her chair that he's sure absolutely no one has used for their intended purpose. Not with the way the woman has turned her entire chair into a weapon that she uses indiscriminately on people who 'help' her without her asking first.

"He snuck up behind me in the parking garage late at night," Tim finally grumbles when the cup is half empty. From the disarray of the lab, he can tell she's been in all night. Several computers pulled apart over two tables. Their innards hooked up to the array of systems she's put together herself over the years. Updating with tech and hardware that she refuses to tell Tim the origins of no matter how often he begs. "What did he expect?"

"Not your elbow apparently," Babs says with a smirk. Her eyes are red rimmed behind her glasses and Tim wonders where she'd heard about it if she was in all night. "Dick brought me dinner and gossip just as these," she points to the nearest table, "were giving up their secrets."

Babs is psychic, Tim reminds himself. It's why he never, ever tries to lie to her. Even when Dick throws every trick he has at Tim to try and get him to do it. Tim's sure that once Dick finally gets that he can't lie to or trick Babs she'll accept one of his many proposals.

"Jason said he'd be fine," Tim shrugs it all off as he straightens up. He has another fifteen minutes before his shift officially starts. Enough time to test out the cesspool that the breakroom coffee pot must be if Babs is asking for Starbucks. Maybe make the decision on whether or not bleach can fix the problem before too many caffeine starved officers decide to damn the torpedoes and drink whatever's there. "And I didn't wake up to any maimed animals left on my doorstep in warning. So, I'm calling the whole thing a win."

Babs makes an amused noise even as Tim can see her attention is being pulled back to the computers. "Damian wouldn't do that. He _likes_ animals more than he likes people."

Which is true, Tim has to concede. The cow _still_ living on the grounds of the manor -in what Steph calls cow heaven- can attest to that. "He's still vegetarian then, I take it?"

"Yes," Babs smiles ruefully at her keyboard. "But he doesn't make a point to force his diet on anyone else, or insult them for eating meat."

Tim ignores the implied arched brow in Babs' tone and sets out to save the coffee pot.

.

.

Dick drapes himself over Tim's back, pushing him uncomfortably forward in his chair. Tim can see his distressed face out of the corner of his eye as Steph folds herself into Dick's seat. Tucking her feet under her as she tries to mimic Dick's look. A hard feat when she looks ready to laugh.

"You _broke_ my little brother's nose!" Dick accuses. And sort of _drops_ all of his weight on Tim. Tim grunts and tries to push back. It does him no good.

"Your little brother snuck up behind me in the dark," Tim says and tries to go limp. Crawling out of the desk footwell isn't graceful but it's preferable to getting smashed by Dick. "Be grateful I didn't break more than that."

Steph snorts as Tim slides to the floor and comes up close to her. Shirt and pants wrinkled beyond help. "He was just going to ask you out for dinner, you know?"

"No, I did not know," Tim scowls at Dick who had shamelessly stolen his chair the second Tim slipped his hold. "All I know is that someone grabbed me from behind with no warning. I'd break _your_ nose for doing something that stupid."

"Point," Dick allows graciously with a thoughtful nod. "Ok, yeah, that is pretty stupid. His face looks pretty horrible though."

Tim hasn't actually seen the young man yet. Something that hasn't happened since Damian joined. Tim tries not to think about how often he's noticed him in the background of the precinct. "How bad?"

"Bad," Steph draws the word out with a grimace that turns into a smirk. So, painful and obvious but not actually damaging. "It kinda looks like you took a bat to his face instead of your elbow."

Guilt creeps up on him. Slow and insidious even as Tim tries to kick it away. Tim does in fact know the look Steph is describing. From an incident involving Damian and an actual baseball bat. An accident according to everyone, but Tim has always had his doubts about that one.

"You should take him out sometime, when his head isn't actually so swollen looking, to make up for it," Dick says. Tossing one of Jason's whistles from hand to hand.

"Why are you so obsessed with the idea of us getting together?" Tim snatches the whistle away, because step two of Dick playing around will involve him _using_ the whistle, and there are K9 units just down the hall getting ready to do a demonstration out back. No need to get the dogs riled up.

"He's not," Steph hops up and brushes invisible lint off her pants. "He's obsessed with being able to officially call you brother."

Dick doesn't even have the good grace to try denying it. "Well, he keeps foiling Bruce's attempts at adoption. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"That's insane, Dick," Tim eyes the total lack of understanding in Dick's face, and the grin on Steph's. "No, you're both insane. You can't base a relationship off of how much you like the family."

"Aw, but don't you love us?" Steph coos, throwing her arms around Tim in a hug that's borderline painful.

"Not at the moment," Tim squirms out of her hold too and does not like the look she shares with Dick. It's a speaking look that speaks to Tim about all sorts of headaches in the future. "I kind of hate you right now actually, and I'm going to go over there," Tim points away, far away even as he starts edging away in the opposite direction, "because I don't want any of the crazy that's infecting you two."

"Tim," Dick sings his name with a wide grin, but it's Steph who lunges for him first. Tim evades her through luck alone, and avoids Dick's grab through practice. He books it out of the office and only gets away with it because Commissioner Wayne -"Do I have to bribe you?"- makes a very effective wall when he's confused by what's happening.

.

.


End file.
